


Flavor of the Month: Crab

by layr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, M/M, My boyfriend is an alien, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26614312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layr/pseuds/layr
Summary: Kourt is crabby.
Relationships: Blaine Garu/Kourt Crowe
Kudos: 1





	Flavor of the Month: Crab

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a series of stories about Blaine Garu, Spare Prince of Eab Nanoorn, and Kourt Crowe, Jedi shapeshifter. They take place in the Star Wars universe, several hundred years before Star Wars: The Phantom Menace.

I remember the first time he did it.

At first it was hard to put my finger on exactly what was up with Kourt. It's not like I could say "Kourt's being weird," because the fact is, Kourt *is* weird; it's part of being Jedi and being with me and being whatever kind of alien that he is. But he was being... more weird.

For one thing, he wasn't eating much. A little of my food (he still insists on making sure nothing's poisoned, never mind that I don't think anyone's bothered with that in ages) and a lot of water, and that's it. Not even any chocolate, which sort of worried me. That wasn't like him.

And on top of that, he was... well, he acted like he was *itchy*. Scratching his wrists, scratching his ankles, scratching the back of his neck, to the point where I was getting itchy just watching him. I kept checking the sheets to make sure there wasn't any kind of itch-bug sneaking around in there, but no; it was just Kourt. Being itchy. Weird.

So, being the helpful prince that I was, I asked if maybe he wanted to borrow some of my moisturizer.

"No, I do NOT, and would you leave me the FUCK ALONE?" And at that he stomped out of the room, and slammed the door in a most un-Jedi like fashion.

Right, that was the other thing: he was just incredibly moody. King Crab of Crab Island, was Kourt.

And that was when I first understood exactly why they've kept him stationed out here all this time. I don't try to fool myself that the second son of the king of a planet in the middle of nowhere was ever really worth the full-time attention of a highly trained Jedi assassin. If Eab Nanoorn ceased to be, the Republic would find another source of pop songs, erotic holos, and high-quality candy. The fact is, he's not out here for my benefit; he's out here for theirs, to keep him out of their hair. Or tentacles, or what have you. I've never mentioned this to him, and all the little gods know that I have never complained.

So he stays out here with me, and when they need him to do their dirty work, they send for him. And when he's done, he has always come home to me, and we've made a life together and pretended I'm just enough in danger to justify his protecting me. Because I have always dearly loved feeling shielded by Kourt.

Peculiar Kourt. He was in there the longest time, doing... something. Something that involved a fair amount of thrashing around. Was he bouncing on the bed? Without me? Dear, peculiar Kourt.

If he wanted me to listen to him, he'd have done it in here. So I put on some good, noisy music; I read a book; I ate that extraordinarily good cheese that would not normally have been left over. I left Kourt the fuck alone, as requested, for at least a couple of hours, until the sound of water running intrigued me.

If he was running a bath, he must have wanted company.

One of the truly charming features of the seaside wing of the palace is the veranda that runs along the back. I very quietly slipped out the back door (I learned to very quietly slip in the back door when I was much too young to be out all night, and slipping out works on the same principle), took just a few steps, and slipped into Kourt's rooms.

And I nearly lost my breath.

Curled up on the bed was a kind of semi-transparent... thing. It was split down the back from the nape of the neck to the bottom of the spine. It looked like something you'd find on the beach. I walked around the bed, looking at this bizarre object. It was sort of... fascinating. In a very eerie way. I could recognize the expression on the semi-transparent face. Crabby. It was definitely Kourt. I was trying to figure out how Kourt got hollowed out like that when I heard him behind me.

"Hey..."

And Kourt (actual live Kourt, not hollow transparent Kourt) was lounging back in the tub, rather languid, mostly submerged. I smelled his favorite bath oil.

He looked incredible. His skin was practically glowing, like he'd had the best facial in history. His hair was hanging completely straight, which was weird, but it looked good, shining. His eyes were half-closed, but as clear as I'd ever seen them.

Of course. I asked him why he hadn't told me what was going on, and he looked sort of embarrassed and told me how it was just too weird. I reminded him about how I liked weird, how I had a regular weirdness fetish. He made a face. That's Kourt.

"So, less itchy?"

And he laughed, sending ripples through the water. "Way less itchy."

"Can I... touch?"

"Blaine, you are so predictable... yeah, you can touch."

And so I pulled off the thin cotton shift I was wearing in our rooms in those days (easy access was a big priority) climbed into the hot sweet-smelling water, and knelt beside him. I ran my hand down his upper arm. I'll never forget how his skin felt, incredibly soft, like the underside of a young woman's breasts, although I wasn't going to say that to him.

"You feel... softer. Really good. Clean."

I was in a mood to touch; he was in a mood lie back and let me explore the varieties of his newly tender skin. His elbows were perfectly smooth; his knees; the soles of his feet. No calluses on his hands and feet.

"How do you deal with that?"

"I have to build up new ones. It's sort of a pain, but that's the way it goes."

I carded my fingers through his utterly straight, smooth, hair. It felt astonishing, like the hair of an expensive doll. I could've spent days combing it.

"Does it stay like this?"

"For a few weeks. Unless I concentrate on getting it to curl."

"I like it. I like the curls, but this is... this is good."

And he laughed. "I'm glad."

"What does your mouth feel like?"

And he gave me that gloriously evil Jedi-assassin look that still melts me every time. "I think you should find out."

I made a thorough study of it, and almost forgot to come up for air. Kourt scooped me up and sat me astride his lap, and I just kept on exploring.

"You feel wonderful, all over."

"Yes, I do."

And I knew how to keep him feeling wonderful, how to make him feel even more wonderful. I licked his neck. I kissed him. I touched him the way he liked. He groaned and pressed against me. I moved a bit, straddled his lovely, curved, smooth knee, and rubbed up against it solely for my own benefit.

Splashing, laughter, and silly messiness eventually subsided, and we climbed out of the tub and dried off. I grabbed a few of the fluffier towels for Kourt, for his sensitive new skin. As we made our way back to my rooms, I asked him how often this happened.

"Once every dozen years or so, give or take a few, depending on... oh, various things."

"Like what?"

"Stress, disease, reproduction... if I were living with another of my kind, we'd eventually become synchronized."

"May every god save me from being in the room when that happens."

"What?"

"Well, you were just a little on the... irritable side there for a while."

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were."

"No I wasn't!"

There has never been any use arguing with Kourt over a thing like that; I threw my hands up in surrender:

"Never mind. What I want to know is, can I have the skin?"

Kourt made a face I couldn't quite interpret, beyond "not thrilled."

"Can you..."

"I could get the coolest pants made out of it..."

As he stood there, trying to figure out how to answer, I fell back onto the bed, delighted. Having weirded out the weirdest man (or whatever) in town, I could order dinner.

I still love soft-crab sandwiches.

***

He's done it more than ten times now, since he's been with me. I actually watched it once, but it's a private thing for him, and it sure wasn't something I ever needed to see again. Even so, every time, he comes out looking perfect, hair sleek, skin glowing.

I've never really envied Kourt. Sure, he can hear thoughts, he can move things with his mind, he can change his shape; but I've benefited from his ability to do all those things, so I haven't really needed to do them anyway. Certainly, now that I'm getting near the end, sometimes I think about what it would be like if I could shed my skin and come out young and healthy and strong again. But I can't do that, and sometime soon I'm going to die.

And Kourt is going to live, and go on living, and keep shedding every dozen years or so, and coming out new and beautiful and young every time. And I'm not convinced he's the lucky one.


End file.
